#Fer Carpenter

[oraculoediciones]

Desde hace 30 años, Fernando Cenzabella ofrece un sonido único, personal, lejos de la industria. Su vida es una búsqueda permanente, ya sea en sus orígenes como parte del grupo "Sugar Tampaxxx", o impulsando proyectos propios como "Los Pacientes" o "Trópico de Cáncer". Porque el silencio también puede ser música.

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REALIZACIÓN Diego Arandojo

PRODUCCIÓN Lafarium

AGRADECIMIENTOS Fernando Cenzabella Carolina Forcinitti Darío Martínez

Copyright 2024 LAFARIUM www.lafarium.com.ar

[cherryblogss]

cherryyy mamãe como vc está? eu sei que os pedidos estão fechados mas quando vc tiver mais tranquilinha, e se quiser obviamente, faz um dos trintões com uma reader pop princess igual a Sabrina carpenter toda safadinha assanhada nos shows dando tchauzinho e mandando beijinho 💋💋💋pra eles enquanto cantam as músicas que ela fez pra ELES 💞only e dança toda empinadinha e sapeca 🔥 e os queridos babando nela na plateia e doidos pra meter o vapo 😓🤯😋😭

aiiii eu amei essa ask mds😭😭😭 sou obcecada pela estética da sabrina e adoro ver os videos do show dela🫂🫶🏻 amo a maior transuda do mundo

O Enzo vai no primeiro show todo animado, até mais que vc! Fica super carinhoso, sorrindo o tempo todo, mas a expressão vai caindo conforme o show vai rolando. Acredito muito que ele é um pouquinho ciumento demais, então vendo as suas provocações fica todo bicudo com os brações cruzados - AQUELES BICEPS OWNNN - mas ele percebe como vc só olha pra ele, até pisca e aponta na direção dele quando faz as insinuações toda silly serelepe👻👻👻 aí se acalma e dá aquele sorriso galanteador capaz de encharcar tua calcinha a quilometros de distância, MAS se vc quer ver esse homem petrificado é na parte de Juno (qm sabe, sabe) e quando vc faz a exata posição que ele te fez esguichar de tão forte que t fodeu na noite anterior, fica completamente corado e o pau latejando ainda mais quando vc faz uma carinha bem tesuda na direção que ele tá. Nem se importa e te come no camarim msm, aliás, nem te deixa tomar banho direito pq chega bem sonso dizendo que quer te ajudar a relaxar, mas depois tá te comendo e mandando fazer aquela posição amanhã😁😁😁😁

Fernando paga de sério e pocas risadas, mas passa show inteiro rindo das suas gracinhas, totalmente abobado e apaixonado por ti. Fica com os olhinhos brilhando ao te ver cantar músicas românticas e dançar toda feliz, mas quando você tá toda sapeca fazendo insinuações sexuais e sendo toda provocativa olhando SÓ para ele - e vms cair na real, o Fer sabe que é o unico ne - fica tímido e meio enciumado, apesar de ser um homem confiante, é meio possessivo e não gosta de ver como os outros estão te olhando, pois é o único momento que ele expressa abertamente ser um fofucho por dentro, algo que geralmente é reservado só pra ti. Ai cara eu sinto que ele seria muito aqueles namorados que seguiria a trope sunshinexgrump, ele com fama de ser bravudo, aí os fãs ficariam gravando a carinha apaixonada dele te assistindo. Obvio que quando chegam em casa ele te come até você ficar burrinha. Não te fode no camarim justamente por querer te deixar foguenta por ele tbm😈

Esteban é conhecido como um dos atores mais gentis e charmosos, então todo mundo ama ele e ainda mais se vcs dois fossem um casal☝🏻 Logo, ele é convidado por amigos para te ver de pertinho, aí se senta todo quietinho, feliz por te ver performar e sabia como vc era talentosa e gostosa. Só que nosso vô kuku não usa as redes sociais e não fazia ideia de como era o show, por isso, é cômico ver como ele fica hipnotizado por ti, tímido e corando quando percebe que seu flerte é diretamente com ele💋 fica todo afetado quando vc manda beijinho e sorri pra ele enquanto ta empinadinha. Aquela parte que tem a prisão antes de Juno e vc escolhe Estebinho aki😈 ele só falta desmaiar de tesão e nervosismo, gaguejando em todas as respostas. Irmãs, o que esse homem vai estar feroz, louco para te comer no fim não há palavras. Soube pelos amigos que vc que solicitou a presença dele e não ia desperdiçar a oportunidade de ter algo com vc. Apesar de ser um romântico, é selvagem quando tá com tesão e seu jeitinho toda provocativa, lindinha e safada só faz ele quer te comer até gritar o nome dele ou papi se quiser ne...

e claro que eu ia meter o Pipe, mas☝🏻 eu to escrevendo um hc dele baseado na música bodyguard da bey pq redescobri o cowboy carter e vc me deu uma inspiração muito boa😘

[useless-catalanfacts]

Hehehe.... Here's a post I think you people will like.

A while ago, I was asked about Catalan swear words. I answered it and I explained how very often we say "I shit on ..." and gave some examples. You can find that post here:

Yesterday, someone in Catalan Twitter tweeted asking what are your favourite swearings, and I think you might like to hear what people answered. So here it goes!

Així plogués tant, que els ànecs arribessin a mossegar els collons de Déu! = This way may it rain so much that ducks could reach to bite God's bollocks.

Així baixi una olla del cel, amb el cap de Déu per tapadora! = This way may a cooking pot fall from Heaven/sky with God's head as the lid!

Cagum tots los sants posats en un bocoi amb Déu per tap! = I shit on all the saints placed inside a hogdhead (large cask barrel) with God as the lid!

Cagum la veta del capdavall de la cama dreta de les calces del pagès que va plantar la primera fava que va menjar l'ase que va dur la Mare de Déu a Egipte! = I shit on the ribbon of the lowest part of the right leg of the trousers of the farmer who planted the first bean that was eaten by the donkey that took the Virgin Mary to Egypt!

Cagum Sant Hilari i tots els sants del calendari, i si em deixés algun per dir, me cagum la mare que el va parir. = I shit on Saint Hilarius and all the saints on the calendar; and if I had missed saying any of them, I shit on the mother that gave birth to them. (But in Catalan it rhymes).

Cagum Déu i el que portava la creu, i el que la va fer que era fuster = I shit on God and the guy who carried the cross, and the guy who made it who was a carpenter (in Catalan it rhymes) or Cagum Déu, la creu i el fuster que la feu = I shit on God, the cross, and the carpenter who made it (also rhymes).

Em cago en els quatre puntals que aguanten la cagadora de Déu = I shit on the four stakes that hold up God's shitting hole. (Maaaany people have said this one or variations of it)

Em cago en la puta que va arribar a parir el paleta que va fer les quatre pilastres que aguantaven la cagadora de Déu i tots els sants = I shit on the whore who reached the point of giving birth to the bricklayer who built the four pilars what held up the shitting hole of God and all the saints.

Cagum Sant Roc, el gos i la mare que els va parir tots dos = I shit on Saint Roch, the dog, and the mother who gave birth to both.

Me cago en la tita del dimoni porc = I shit on the pig demon's dick.

Cago'n la sang d'un banc i el fetge d'una cadira coixa = I shit on a bench's blood and a lame chair's liver.

Em cago en els claus dels peus de Cristu crucificat = I shit on the screws/nails on crucified Christ's feet.

Em cago en l'ou que va fer la gallina que va servir per fer el caldo de la Mare de Déu quan era partera = I shit on egg that was laid by the chicken that was used to make the broth for the Virgin Mary when she had just given birth.

Me cagum Satanàs clavat dalt d'un cirerer = I shit on Satan nailed to the top of a cherry tree.

Mal davallés el secretari de Déu, vestit de torero = Wouldn't God's secretary come down, dressed as a bullfighter.

What swearings do you say when something goes wrong? In my house, the most common one is a simple one: collons de mico (monkey bollocks).

[sarcasticdolphin]

Smrtolf fae au: September Prompt 25: "Picture Frames"

For the amazing @adridoesstuff as all the Smrtolf drabbles are.

Cut is just for length

“What about the gold one?” There might be a faint tinge of amusement in Aemilia’s voice, but Rudolf was concentrating too closely to care.

“Too ostentatious. Too-” Rudolf makes a few vague gestures with his hands. “Performative.”

The words don’t seem fully sufficient. Most of Rudolf’s paintings remain unframed, and framing them is always so difficult. Add to that the king’s marked dislike of plain black frames and it ceased to be a minor concern and became a full on conundrum.

“A wooden one, then. Perhaps with a little staining. Something understated.”

Rudolf looks at the frame and hates it immediately. The wood is the wrong texture - too birchy. The painting in question is of redwoods. It will clash horribly.

“Too-” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the door and the poor servant who is displaying the picture frame takes the queue for him and his rejected frame to exit stage left.

“Rudolf.” As much as Rudolf could deny the air of amusement in Aemilia’s voice before, now he most certainly couldn’t.

“Aemilia.” She’s smiling, too, and gently stroking Anna’s raven. The white bird was happily snoozing in her arms, feathers softly fluffed.

“I hate doing this.” There is no venom to Rudolf’s proclamation, and Aemilia gives a gentle laugh.

“Each time it takes more and more frames before you eventually acquiesce to one. Perhaps you ought to take up picture frame making and solve your problems that way.”

Rudolf rolls his eyes, but he’d considered it before. There were some problems that were best solved by taking matters into one’s own hands. Though thinking that was far easier than becoming a skilled enough carver or carpenter to make a picture frame that would be satisfactory.

“Perhaps I should take to painting murals for a bit. Those at least have the benefit of not needing frames.”

“Indeed. They are also incredibly time consuming. But I have no doubt the king would be happy to have you in his quarters painting the walls for half the day. I’d probably have to drag him to court or he’d skip it.”

Rudolf smiles at that. It’s just the sort of thing that Smrt would do, and Aemilia would certainly be the one to drag the king to his court. Or maybe she’d come to visit him with her horde of demon crows. That might frighten him into doing his duties.

“And why do I even need a picture frame in the first place? The canvas itself is enough.” Perhaps it is a more boastful statement than Rudolf would typically allow himself, but in this he knows his skill. And his work might benefit from framing sometimes, but it stands alone.

“For a wrapped canvas, certainly, But when you paint on anything else you will have issues.” Rudolf hears the unspoken part as well - to say he found the wrapping process tedious would be an understatement if ever there was one. It was worse than grinding pigment in Rudolf’s eyes, even if it wasn’t as time consuming. And then there was the annoyance of dealing with a larger wrapped canvas. That made things even worse.

The white raven almost seemed to yawn as it woke up, accepting a few scratches from Aemilia before hopping over to Rudolf and perching on his thigh. Rudolf offers Anna’s dear bird a fer scratches, but he can only shake his head sadly when the bird gives him a hopeful look. Anna was still being rather strict with treats. And it was working - her bird was looking a little less plump and more like a typical raven, though it was always hard to tell under all the feathers.

The raven gives a sound that Rudolf can only describe as forlorn and starts preening, but Rudolf finds himself feeling immensely guilty. Anna’s sweet raven could guilt trip like no other.

“Perhaps I should take up drawing.” Rudolf already had to do some sketching, though he personally much preferred paint.

“Drawings still need frames.”

“Sculpture, then.”

Aemilia only raises an eyebrow at Rudolf’s suggestion. He’d tried a few sculptured, but he hadn’t the patience for it. Pigments might cause him difficulties from time to time, but there was a vast difference in having to spend a few extra minutes mixing pigments and spending days and days carving away at a block of rock, hoping to bring forth something beautiful. 

Rudolf glances down at the white raven. “Maybe not sculpture.” He gives the raven a few more scratches before turning back to Aemilia.

“I miss when painting was simple and easy.”

“When someone else ground all the pigment, prepped the paint, and selected the subject?”

Rudolf exhales. Aemilia has a way of hitting issues square on the head while not actually saying anything directly about them, and as usual she was right. He prided himself on preparing his own pigments and paints, and on selecting his subjects. Hadn’t he complained mightily when his tutor had forced him to learn how to properly paint still life? He’d certainly made a bit of a theatrical fuss of grimacing at a few innocent fruit bowls.

“How was the court?” Rudolf asks the question in earnest curiosity, but also out of a faint sense of defiance. Aemilia was the rare type of fae that thoroughly disliked dithering on unnecessary topics.

“I have no doubt the king will give you a full and complete accounting of the affairs of the court today. We aren’t here to talk about the court, Rudolf, we’re here to find a picture frame. How about the white one?”

The white one is nice - simple and with an elegance, but Rudolf finds himself displeased with it. The edges are quite thin and it will make the painting and frame look all out of proportion.

“Too small. Too skinny.”

Aemilia tilts her head to the side just a hair and gestures for a servant to bring the next picture frame. “What about the blue one?”

“Too blue.”

“They gray one?”

“Too melancholy.”

“The black one?”

“Smrt doesn't like black frames.”

[handeaux]

During The Off-Season, The Old Cincinnati Reds Had Some Curious Side Hustles

It’s coming on World Series time, yet again without the presence of the Cincinnati Reds. As the die-hard fans turn their attention to the hot-stove league or the minutia of their fantasy teams, few give a thought to how today’s players spend the off-season.

In the early 1900s, every professional baseball team enjoyed a post-season romp. The happy few battled it out for World Series honors. But the also-rans kept playing on barnstorming tours, competing with amateur or semi-pro teams for a week or two after the final official game. Once this last hurrah was done, the players scattered to their side hustles.

Not that they needed the money. Rookies earned something like $1,800 in 1900 while stars pulled down $4,000 or more, and those figures translate to $64,000 to $140,000 in today’s dollars. Usually their off-season jobs were an investment in the future, when the pro years ended. Winter jobs were often far removed from the skills required on the diamond.

Reds second baseman Ed Phelps, for example, spent his winters earning a degree in business. Bob Ewing, who pitched for the Reds from 1902 to 1909, scurried home to Wapakoneta each fall to oversee his farm devoted to breeding champion harness-racing horses. Charlie Chech lasted only four years in the majors, pitching in 1905 and 1906 for the Reds, so it’s a good thing he was able to work winters as a pharmacist in St. Paul. Jack Ryder of the Cincinnati Enquirer reported [26 October 1905]:

“Chech is a graduate of the pharmacy department of the University of Wisconsin and is a practical druggist. He has bought an interest in one of the leading drugstores of St. Paul and will spend the winter mixing prescriptions and selling the festive tooth brush, the dry, deceptive sponge and the innocuous drugstore cigar.”

Orval Overall pitched for Cincinnati in 1905 and 1906 and wintered in California, where he helped manage his family’s hotel and fruit ranch. John Barry wandered through Cincinnati twice during a decade in the majors, and spent the off-season coaching football at Niagara University, his alma mater.

Pitcher Tom Walker (1904-05) clerked winters in a Philadelphia clothing store and had a reputation for up-selling hand-me-down suits. According to the Cincinnati Post [2 December 1904]:

“Tom is said to be a wonder, and able to hand out a line of talk about ‘all wool and fast dye’ in a most convincing fashion.”

Miller Huggins was a local boy, who grew up in Walnut Hills and earned a law degree from the University of Cincinnati. After 13 years as a second baseman, he went on to manage the St. Louis Cardinals and the New York Yankees during their glory years in the Twenties. Throughout much of his career, Huggins partnered with Cliff Martin to run a tobacconist’s shop. Per the Enquirer [9 November 1907]:

“Miller Huggins is handling the festive coffin nail, the flagrant ‘two-fer,’ and the lordly ten-center, at his popular smokehouse on Fountain Square.”

Outfielder Fred Odwell’s four years in “The Bigs” were spent in Cincinnati, but his financial future lay in the Empire State. According to the Enquirer:

“Fred Odwell owns a large quarry at his home in Downsville, N.Y., which he superintends during the winter, while his brother looks after the work during the summer. The business is a paying one, and Oddie is well provided for when his ball-playing days are over.”

Apparently, the grass was greener working for Uncle Sam, because Odwell, after a stint as a real estate broker, landed an appointment as postmaster for Downsville.

Hans Lobert logged five years as an infielder for the Reds while he built houses as a carpenter and contractor in Pittsburgh over the winter months. The Reds made something of a fuss about one of their 1907-08 pitchers, Andy Coakley, attending dental school on the East Coast, but it didn’t take. Coakley spent most of his post-playing career running a New York insurance agency while coaching baseball at Columbia University. In that collegiate gig, Coakley discovered a slugger named Lou Gehrig, so he had that going for him.

For a couple of years, the Reds had an actual doctor on the team, but he may not have been much use if a teammate was injured. Doctor Frank “Noodles” Hahn was a veterinarian, specializing in horses and cattle. While pitching for Cincinnati, Hahn enrolled in the Cincinnati Veterinary College. From 1900 until 1919, Cincinnati was home to its very own veterinary school, organized and operated by a consortium of local animal doctors. Noodles did so well in class that he was recruited after graduation to join the faculty of the college and taught there for several years.

A native of Nashville, Hahn confessed that he had no idea how he earned his distinctive nickname, although he had been called “Noodles” since he was a young boy. Hahn landed a pitching spot in the minors when he was just 16 years old and was recruited by the Reds in 1899 before he turned 20. Hahn’s rookie year was one for the record books as he won 23 games while losing only 8, posting a 2.68 ERA. Over seven seasons with the Reds, Hahn racked up 127 wins and 92 losses although he pitched for some decidedly lackluster Cincinnati squads. On 12 July 1900, Hahn hurled a no-hitter against the powerful Philadelphia Phillies and later struck out 16 Boston batters in one game. Problem was, the Reds never ranked higher than fourth in the National League during Hahn’s time in Cincinnati. After several seasons in which he averaged 300 innings, Hahn’s arm gave out. He limped through a half-season with the New York Highlanders, then decided to find another line of work.

It appears that old Noodles could have chosen a couple of careers. The Washington Post [17 June 1906] declared Hahn the best piano player in baseball. There was talk he might have pursued music professionally.

It was large animal veterinary work that finally won out. For a while, Hahn coached and pitched for some semi-pro teams, but he spent decades as a federal meat inspector in Cincinnati. Until he was over 70 years old, Hahn kept a locker at Crosley field. He would visit the ballpark on game day, work out with the team and pitch batting practice, then change back into his business clothes to watch the game. When the Terrace Plaza opened an ice-skating rink on the eighth floor, septuagenarian Noodles Hahn was there, showing off his fancy technique. He died, aged 80, at his retirement home in North Carolina.

[fearsmagazine]

THE FLOOD - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Saban Films

SYNOPSIS: A huge hurricane is hitting Louisiana, as the waters rise flooding areas it unleashes a relentless horde of giant hungry alligators. A group of in-transit prisoners and their security guards are redirected to seek shelter in a local police precinct with a prison. As the water infiltrates the police facility they all become prey for these giant flesh-eaters. To survive, the prisoners and guards must band together.

REVIEW: A derelict police facility, a hurricane, a group of vile prisoners, a band of ruthless mercenaries with an agenda regarding one of the prisoners, and finally this congregation of giant alligators and you’ve got the formula for a classic summer “B” movie. It feels like a Cajun take on the classic John Carpenter movie “Assault on Precinct 13,” with a few other elements scrambled into the mix.

The screenplay feels like the type of film American International Pictures and Roger Corman used to churn out back in their haydays. One can’t help but draw comparisons to 1976’s “Assault on Precinct 13” and the numerous films that have addressed the terrors of the order of Crocodylia, which includes alligators, crocodiles and gharial. Sheriff Jo Newman tries to hold everything together as the mercenaries show up and pindown the officers and prisoners in the cell block. They are unaware that the alligators have already breached the facility and taken out one obnoxious deputy and one not so skilled mercenary. Veteran film fans can probably predict the majority of the plot and how things turn out. Many of the prisoners are kind of cliched stereotypes, as is their dialogue. Still, it's not offensive and a fun piece of mindless entertainment even though there are some flaws in the film’s logic.

The sets are fine, the costumes okay, some of the cinematography is a bit blurred, especially the underwater effects and darker scenes. There were scenes where you could tell the rain was cgi and a few of the reference shots they used as transitions. The alligators are clearly cgi, although there might be a few images that are live gators, but I didn’t see a wrangler listed in the credits so I doubt it. I did appreciate the detail in the gator choreography when they attacked and held onto their victims. They clearly did the homework. Likewise, there were a few gunfire sequences where the gun bursts weren’t lined up properly and you could tell they were not discharging their weapons.

I think the cast did a solid job with the material they were given. I enjoyed Nicky Whelan’s performance. She elevated the character and could easily be a new Linda Hamilton or Sigourney Weaver if the right role presented itself as she handles the action rather well. Veteran actor Casper Van Dien plays Russell Cody, a sad sack of a cop killer with this hard luck story that the sheriff takes a shine to. It never becomes this full on romance but close and Van Dien does his best with an awkward role. The rest of the cast keeps the energy level up and allows the film to be watchable, but not memorable.

THE FLOOD is the perfect summer drive-in movie, unfortunately there aren’t many drive-ins and they mostly play classic revivals. The plot didn’t hold any surprises and I found it predictable. I was rooting for Sheriff Jo Newman, but I was also rooting for the gators. I was also cheering when they got the obnoxious deputy. There is no sex or nudity, and given the crimes of the prisoners I would have figured a bit more adult language. Even the gore seemed a tad underplayed by some of today’s expectations of genre films. Still, if you’re looking for something to help you take your mind off the summer heat THE FLOOD might offer you some relief.

CAST: Casper Van Dien, Nicky Whelan, Louis Mandylor, Kim Delonghi, Devanny Pinn, Ryan Francis, Eoin O’Brien, Randall J. Bacon, and Randy Wayne. CREW: Director - Brandon Slagle; Screenplay - Chad Law & Josh Ridgway; Producer - Daemon Hillin; Cinematographer - Niccolo De La Fere; Score - Randy Kalsi; Editors - Austin Nordell & James Kondelik; Costume Designer - Thanitta Pinkaew; Visual FX - CKVFX, Steve Clark, & Paul Knott. OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/QuYX69TLlKI RELEASE DATE: in Theaters, on Demand, & Digital July 14th, 2023

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[mysteriis-moon666]

CRYSTAL VIPER - The Silver Key

Depuis 2003 le groupe Polonais Crystal Viper emmené par la frontmwoman Marta Gabriel (Basse, guitares, piano, chant, paroles, composition), fonce au service du heavy metal, composé aujourd’hui de Lukasz Halczuch Guitares (lead, rythmique), écriture de chansons (pistes 2, 4), Éric Juris Guitares (lead, rythmique) et de Galwas de Kuba (Batterie, percussions).

« The Silver Key » via Listenable Records est leur 9ème album studio débutant avec une intro « Return To Providence » synthétisée dans la veine des B.O de John Carpenter, l’opus délivre un heavy/power metal d’inspiration NWOBHM, alternant les effets de tempo afin d’apporter une atmosphère différente sur chaque titre. Les solos en mode shredding de la paire Eric Juris/Andy Wave apportent et transportent avec une technicité et fluidité approfondissant les effets des lignes mélodiques en power metal et des accélérations de speed metal puissantes. Les soubassements en heavy lourd et offensif typés la vierge de fer demeurent la pierre philosophale et filiation du groupe. Le groupe vient parfois mettre des pincées de death et de black pour varier les plaisirs et augmenter sa ligne de front. Ça fonctionne vraiment bien tant l’équilibre trouvé performe. Cette belle dynamique emporte tout sur son passage. Le chant de Marta propage cette veine épique Heavy/power que ne renierait pas le dernier chasseur de Dragon Ronnie James Dio, et vers les contes d'HP Lovecraft. Ce chant personnalise le son des malédictions et les cris rauques qui sortent du delta des enfers. Cette voix a traversé les siècles et se propage en résonance éternelle comme le battement du cœur du désert.

Le disque nous fait regagner vers ces points de mémoires où nous revenons pour renaître à chaque fois par de puissantes marées. De sa peau nacrée des parfums jaillissent comme des épées. Chaque titre apporte son souffle et le rythme de son sang.

En traitant les possibilités comme des probabilités Crystal Viper a pris un virage avec la même flamboyance que les Canadiens d’Unleash The Archers, d’ailleurs le titre « The Silver Keys » en est le synonyme, et son solo céleste voilà ce qui peut faire de cette terre un jardin. Le groupe a une très bonne stature pour conter et donner vie et corps à toute sa musique.

« Wayfaring Dreamer » est une ballade au piano comme un bal des abysses, où la danse vous noie dans son alcôve orageuse avec la poursuite après vers d'autres titres plus heavy, et le final pour les covers de « Gods Of Thunder Of Wind And Of Rain » (Bathory) et « Scream ! » (Misfits et Glen Danzig).

[vintagepresley]

*Looking at Dr. Carpenter confused.*

"Ah don't need a hug, doc. Ah jus wanna make sure that Ah've been doin right. Ah'm sure yer probably sick a us causin problems fer ya. But if yer sayin Ah'm doin right, then tha's all Ah need."

-- Sheriff Kwimper

I love Toby so much lol

[devilmass]

murder wasn't exactly something that happened in port eloise. while it was true that he could say the tied piper from the parish over had been local, port eloise hadn't seen a homicide since the union days when lynching had been at an all time high. he doesn't think the sheriff in eloise has ever seen the inside of his mortuary, but something tells him manuel is familiar with it. ❝ y'all get much murd'ras 'round these parts ? ❞

with his question answered, something of a disgusted look crosses the preacher's face. his mouth pulls into a thin line. ❝ y'chased a mu'dra up onto this roof? this roof righ' here? ❞ now, rodrick wasn't a superstitious man but he was a coward at heart and the thought that any murderers at all have been inside the church made him swallow loudly.

❝ well, friend, consider this yer' penance fer' not comin' back'n fixin' it. the good news is that y'ain't gotta suffer. i got lemonade n'leftovers. i'll feed'ja, too. ❞ hell, if there was anyone at all he could trust with his life it'd probably be that man right there; something still chills him about the story though, and rodrick comes down the steps, into the sun.

❝ jesus was a carpenter first, manuel. the rest will come. ❞

“Sounds like a decent change of pace for me. Being the homicide department means it’s good when I don’t have anything to do but I’d rather not spend that free time alphabetizing the archives.” He laughed. “Double as the town’s handyman anyways—well… if you believe half the ladies that live in my building anyways.”

Definitely not an intentional brag on his part, but Manny did like to believe after this long he sort of knew his way around the power tools.

“Funny story that… might’ve unintentionally been my fault.” A sheepish admission, surprising, but it was in his personal experience that embarrassing stories did tend to make one look pretty normal so… “Guy was wanted for three murders and an attempted strangling. Sent me on a wild goose chase until we had him cornered on the roof and well… suppose that’s how we found out the weight limit of wood that hasn’t been treated since 1945.”

He could’ve sworn he was still plucking splinters out to this day. And other wood bits. And maybe he had given up on getting a fix since the place hadn’t seen a congregation in quite some time. “Not much of a religious guy anymore, but town’s dragged long enough and it’s kinda my fault anyways so… up for more than just pews.”

[lavalave]

Told ya i will do it in digital too! Its a new style for me to try so i need your opinion about this one. I'm gonna do it on my normal style probably tomorrow :)

[icondeluxe]

Sabrina Carpenter Icons

like if you save

(c) @fdpanem

[savethepack]

sabrina carpenter. •like if you save/use •icons by: @rowbrinanopsd headers by: @collagealaska @twicarpenter

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter.  He has an appointment to keep, after all.   Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”.  For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere.  Kinetic motion trapped in amber.   Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.  

And now it was Thursday.  She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth.  It was likely wasted vanity.  As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring.  Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment.  Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily.  It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner.  She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously.  “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today.  His clothing, certainly.  Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again.  And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow.  A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course.  Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair.  “Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year.  An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried.  “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling.  Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons.  Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients.  While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired.  Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased.  “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation.  “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these.  I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you.  I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much.  He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk.  Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs.  Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred.  In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse.  Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing.  I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange.  Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be.  She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected.  “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening.  Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people.  She made a living reading their unspoken cues.  Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye.  Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland.  She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.  

International financier.  Self-made entrepreneur.  Tall drink of water.  James Fraser had a lot of things going for him.  And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes.  His father’s recent death.  The reason behind a radical change in career.  Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry.  There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling.  But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own.  Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances.  His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end.  His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown.  She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last.  “Tae be honest, it haunted me.  Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me.  An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out.  I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words.  Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut.  Just another charming rake, after all.  It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did.  More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm.  What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room.   Instead, he spun around to face the door.  Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent.  Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma.  The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated.  “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch.  A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in.  She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk.  Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here.  Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded.  There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized.  “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously.  Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend.  She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister.  Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment.  She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door.  There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye.  I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

[techmomma]

Common town jobs in a Western setting

mayor

secretaries

judge

lawman (good?)

lawman (corrupt?)

jailer

blacksmith/farrier/leatherworkers/tanners

carpenter/general handyman

dentist/barber

doctor/barber

barkeep/saloonkeeper

ostler/hostler (person who looks after your horse while you stay at the inn and often de facto veterinarian)

postal worker/telegram operator

general store owner/grocer

tailor/seamstress

various shop owners

farmers/ranchers/millers/brewers/ditch riders/wranglers

hunters/traders

laborers/miners/roustabouts

brothelkeeper/brotherworkers

banker/teller

butcher

baker

candlestick maker?

shoemaker

gunsmith (may be the same person as the farrier/blacksmith if a town is small enough)

train engineers, railroad operators, stage coach drivers

launderer

priest/pastor/clergyman

midwives

travelling salesmen/peddlers

cooks

pharmacist/apothecary

entertainers/dancers/singers/musicians

journalists/photographers/painters

prospectors

undertaker/grave diggers

firefighters? fire chief? (is town big enough?)

school teacher

croupier (person who manages gambling tables)

hatmaker

hairdresser

loggers/lumberjacks

lawyer

bookkeepers/clerks

printers/book-binders/paperworkers

seasonal workers

soda jerk (usually in pharmacist or bakery)

jeweler/watchmakers

freighters (cargo-deliverers)

iceworkers/deliverers/water deliverers

surveyors/assayers/civil engineers

masons

librarian

Unofficial “jobs”

town drunk

hooligans

vagrants

street kids

lesbians spinsters

gunslingers

newcomers

old hands and residents

gossipmongers

new folks coming to prove their grit and not yet disillusioned

stern prairie women who don’t take guff and are trying to raise a family and/or trying to survive

Travelers With No Name

bandits and bankrobbers

town weirdos (isn’t that this whole town?)

pinkertons/undercover police/union breakers (technically also an official Job but not one you want to advertise, usually; these people are not well-liked for good reason in this time period; lots of blood on their hands)

bounty hunters

underpaid and overworked employees

overpaid and underworked managers

folks looking for a quick buck in a lawless west

folks looking for an honest living in a strange world

entrepreneurs (successful and failing)

inventors

folks with secret pasts

snake oil salesmen

Folks Who Don’t Take Kindly To Strangers Round These Parts

brothel workers who love their job

brother workers who hate their job

city folk what moved out to the country and don’t know what they’re in fer

town bullies and cronies (may be working for corrupt lawmen/robberbarons/mayors/gangs/independent)

and many more!

And remember that in small towns in the West, many people worked more than one job, or had jobs that weren’t exactly concrete. Jobs were often fluid: if you have experience shaping stone, you could be the town mason, or you could be the gravestone carver--who’ll also carve and shape stonework around town and give you a professional consultation if you’re doing your own or the stonework for a building is bad and they need to figure out why. A launderer who knows their way with fabric could also be the town tailor, as well as town textile seller, able to create dresses with the very fabrics they’re promoting. If the farrier knows enough about blacksmithing, their job might solely be making horseshoes, but they may sometimes get special orders for things that aren’t horseshoes, or may be asked to help with the gunsmith--or may BE the gunsmith, as well as farrier. 

Small western towns worked similarly to families, in the sense that whether or not it was your official title, if you could do a job, you did it. If you’re the town layer but you know horses inside and out, then you’re who people are gonna call if their horse gets sick.

[random-blfan]

Alsar 64: Selfish

"Hmm … I didn't fall asleep yesterday, I should've slept normally but ... What is this situation ...?"

When I woke up, I couldn't move.

It wasn't something that hurt, but I was sleeping facing up with Fel on the right, Chris on the left, Sig on my legs ... because each one is sleeping so as to hold me down physically I just can't move.

The bed is big enough!actually it's too big!

Even with such a strange way of sleeping, Sig-san has not fallen.

... Last night I was scared to take it in, so for the three of them to feel good we tried intercrural.

I was getting used to it little by little, I didn't feel any discomfort in my asshole, so there was no need for recovery. Though my thighs were a little irritated.

"This is no good ..."

"What 's wrong?"

"Huh! ... Chris, you got up."

I'm sure they won't get angry if I can’t do it, but I don't like it.

After all, we're together ...

But scary things are scary ... I accidentally voiced some of these thoughts and the apparently awake Chris-san heard them.

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

"Uh, that's ... that ... I didn't do it yesterday until the end ... I'm making the three of you put up with it, I wonder how I can decide ..."

From my left, Chris-san speaks while keeping his left hand around my waist and lightly kissing my left ear .

I took a breath, terrified, but just yesterday I thought that I should say what I thought as much as possible, so I decided to try and say it.

"Hmm, We might be a bit impatient? But we're not such beasts that we´ll do something that scares or that Ren-chan hates, so rest assured. Maybe someday.But don't rush, I'll wait for you to feel that way ~ "

"Yes…"

While listening to him speak in a gentle voice, I wonder if he's holding it in and I don’t have to be ready immediately.

"Oh, that 's right. We stayed here yesterday ~? but okay because I contacted Malik-san to tell him, okay?"

"Oh, thank you."

Wow, I completely forgot … Malik-san,I don't remember but yesterday we went out at noon, so I should have come back at night.

Which means that Malik-san found out I spent last night with these three.

Well, we're engaged, so I don't think there's a problem, but it’s a bit embarrassing

"But you contacted him ... how?"

"Hmm, I wonder if Ren-chan hasn't used it? The inn here is pretty good, so there's a communication magic tool in it. So I connect it to the communication magic tool in the guild."

"There is such a convenient thing ~"

I thought there were no phones here in Alsar, but there is such a magic tool.

That’s like a phone isn’t it?

But they're not common, there's one because it's a good place right?

I haven't seen one at Malik's house, so it may not be in ordinary households.

"Hmm ... Hmm ... Ah, good morning, Ren-kun"

"Good morning, Fer-san"

Fer-san also woke up, probably because we were talking.

I don't know what time it is because I can't even look at the clock as I'm still held down by these three, but considering how bright the light filtering through the window’s curtain is, I think it's morning, so I want to get up soon ...

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. Um ... Fer-san, Chris-san I want to get up soon, so can you let me go? What time is it now?"

"That's right. Should we get up soon? It 's around 7:20"

Chris, who turned his gaze toward the wall where I guess there was a clock, told me, it was morning after all.

Maybe I woke up with the sound of the bell at 7 o'clock.

They let me go so I could get up,but Sig-san clung to my calf and put his head on it, so I could raise my upper body, but I couldn't move anymore than that.

"Sig-san, Sig-san. Please get up. I can't move!"

"Hmm ... oh, if Ren kisses me good morning, I'll get up?"

"You're awake! ... Oh, it's physically difficult even if you want to. Would you like to get up?"

"Oh, I'll get up. See, please?"

I put my hand on Sig-san's head and stroke his hair. While talking to him I thought his wolf ears which suddenly stood up were quite cute.

It seems that he wakes up quite easily, and even though it sounds like he's awake, he says that, but we can't kiss because his face is pressed against my calf.

So, when I told him to get up, he got up and put his hands on both sides of me then brought his face closer.

"... Chu. Good morning, Sig-san"

"Oh,it 's morning?"

"Ah, it 's unfair! Ren-chan, me too?"

"Please do it for me too?"

I grab the face in front of me with both hands and give him a peck.

Then, I was asked to do the same by those other two who were sitting next to me, so I gave them a peck too.

Ah, maybe it's really become a habit as a greeting ...

"Okay, then get ready to go eat breakfast and then go to Ally’s?"

"Hmm, even though I've slept until the very end"

"That's true. Well, let's change clothes and have breakfast somewhere close"

I get out of bed quickly, Chris-san complains to Sig-san who takes out a change of clothes from his magic bag, but Sig-san does not seem to care at all and changes clothes quickly while humming a song happily.

Fer-san pulls me out of bed and I too take out my clothes from my bag to get changed.

I never thought of staying in the city, but I'm glad I carried a change of clothes with me.

"I'll tie Ren-chan's hair."

"Yes"

Chris, who finished changing clothes and fixed his hair a bit, turns behind me and ties my hair together.

"Well, it 's done!"

"Thank you. Should we go if you're all done?"

It seemed like he had finished tying, and I was given a pat on my shoulder.

The other two seemed to have changed their clothes, so we left the inn with Chris-san leading me by the hand.

――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

"It's great if you've made up ♪ Ren-kyun shouldn't put up with it in the future, please say things out loud~?"

"Yes. We apologize for the inconvenience ..."

After having breakfast, I went to Ally's shop and apologized for yesterday.

Ally laughed and forgave me, but now I'm sitting on the couch to explain what happened yesterday after I jumped out, so I thanked her deeply as I was sitting down.

"Then, as I said yesterday, I'll introduce you to the land contract and the carpenter ♪"

"Yes"

Fer-san, who was next to me, nods and reads the documents that were handed over.

"[Appear!] There is no problem, so please pay here. "

"Yes, it's easy ♪ It's easy because top adventurers can pay easily pay this ♪ This is nice ~"

Fer-san who seems to have completed the confirmation, took out his guild card and handed it to Ally-san who handed the card and the previous documents to the staff member next to her.

"The carpenter is a neighbor ♪ I'll show you where he his later"

"Oh, no, I have to tell Malik, right? Well, we can't live there yet, so I'm going home today, so when the time comes?"

When I remember I tell Sig-son who was talking to Ally-san, but that's it.

Yesterday I was full of energy to live with the three of them, but I haven't even lived three months with Malik-san ... hmm ...

"I'm worried ... Yesterday without realizing I was excitedly checking houses out with the intention of living together , but I was planning to live with Malik until I entered the family register..."

"Oh, I'm sure Marikyun will be lonely too, so please do that ~? Anyway, you guys will be living together for decades to come, so you can endure it for a few months, right?"

"Marikyun ..."

Marikyun is Malik-san, right?

Even Malik-san has such a nickname ...

Well, have we been together for decades ... yeah, it’s decided.

"Chris-san, Fer-san, Sig-san. I'm sorry even though you thought about a house with my own room yesterday. I want to live with Malik-san until the entry into the family registry. I'm sorry to say that ..."

I turn to Chris who’s behind the sofa and bow down.

After all, it would be bad to decide to leave the house without the permission of Malik-san, who I am indebted to, and I still have a desire to communicate with my "dad."

I wonder if they’ll get angry or not be okay with it...

I said it but now I'm worried and I can't easily raise my head.

"If Ren wants to do that, that's fine. So you don't have to tremble so much, okay?"

"eh…"

I didn't notice it, but apparently I was trembling because of the tension.

Chris-san gently strokes my head.

"Well, wasn't that the plan in the first place? Then, think of that room as a place to stay when you visit" (泊まる= Means to stay at a hotel or a temporary place,like a friend's house or something like that so basically Chris is telling him that the room is for when he visits them while he still lives with Malik)

"A place to stay sometimes ...?"

"Eh ... certainly but ... aren’t you angry? You even prepared a room for me ..."

Neither Sig-san nor Fer-san seem to be angry and speak with a gentle smile.

Yesterday I was house hunting in a hurry, without me it would have been a smaller house, to begin with they won’t leave the guild room until the house is completed..

"Hmm, Ren can't stay in that room, and the guild has a lot of comings and goings, so I wanted a place where we could live calmly."

I tried to tell him that, but Chris said while stroking his head.

Certainly, the three of them spoil me too much don’t they?

"Yes, yes, yes! Renkyun ~? Three people are saying this, so you should visit once in a while ~? Marikyun also has a night shift, so when you stay with the three of them you'll be relieved ♪ And you'll be registered in October, right? If you wait three months, July, August, and September, you'll live together, you didn't choose a husband just to complain about this, right?"

"Yes ..."

It's true that Malik works at night about once a week and isn’t home, but I've always been alone at home, so it's safe to say that?

...... They don’t don't seem to be angry, maybe I’ll get permission from Malik-san to stay at our house on night shift days.

"Oh, I'll return the card ♪ Now, Let’s visit the neighbor and talk about the design of the house ♪ I'll introduce you, so why don't we go?"

" Certainly. Ren-kun? Because we really think so, okay? I'd be happy if I could be with Ren every day, but I'll be with him forever, so it's okay if we wait a little."

Returning the guild card to Fer-san, Ally-san laughs, pointing at a wall of where I assume the carpenter's shop is.

Seeing me still upset, Fer-san tells me as if to comfort me.

Ah ... I’m no good...

I was dragged to the neighbor's house by Ally-san while thinking that I’m selfish and make everyone worry.

TN: This chapter was so hard to translate! I had to get help from a japanese friend, she's super nice and always explains things to me, so it’s thanks to her that I was able to translate this, still i’m not 100% sure of a couple of things.

As always if you see a typo or want to tell me anything feel free~

I already started translating the next chapter but I can’t really make any promises of when I’ll update but I’ll do my best. Take care wherever you are!

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 14: If Not For Love

Chapter 13

Read on AO3

Claire rubbed Lambert’s tartan bow between her thumb and fingers. She’d been sitting by the fire with her baby's little toy for a while now. It was a month since the Redcoats had come and destroyed the bit of peace she’d created for herself.

“They burned it, Claire…his coffin as well.”

How she had screamed, how she had raged.

“We can have another casket made, Claire. Bury it again, fix everything so it’s just as it was before — ”

“No,” she spat. “I’ll not fucking do it again. I will not.”

“I willna do anything ye dinna agree with sister.” She went to take her hand, but Claire yanked it away. She did not miss the pain in Jenny’s eyes.

“Would ye have me fill it wi’ dirt and nothing more? Whatever ye think is right, Claire. I want to fix it for ye.”

“You can’t.” Claire stood up.

She was being unfair. She knew it. But the true source of her anger, her utter fucking rage, was not here, and even if they were, they were untouchable. So she fled, she fled Jenny even as she called out to her, in pain. She fled to her room, slamming the door behind her, and collapsing against the door to scream in rage, in anguish.

After hours of screaming, the cot caught her eye. And then she'd remembered.

She’d held onto that little lamb and cried for hours.

And now every day since, she spent time rubbing the fabric between her fingertips, willing her flesh to become one with the colors that Jamie had been so proud of.

Ian had been returned to them about a week later. Jenny had sent Fergus into the village to inform the mason and the carpenter to alter their records of the purchase of the stone and the casket. They’d done so unquestioningly, and so with evidence supporting that Ian was not the pegleg in question (even though he was), the Redcoats had no choice but to release him. Jenny had admonished him and verbally torn him apart for going to the moor in the first place, all while kissing him and crying with relief.

A soft kick brought Claire back to the present, and she smiled.

“Why, that was very kind of you, darling,” she said softly. That was certainly one of his gentler kicks. “You want to see Lambert?” She knew it was foolish, but she put the little lamb on her stomach and let it balance there. “Since you asked so very nicely.”

She giggled to herself at the silliness of it all.

“Oh…my baby.” She caressed him, nearly fully grown as he could be inside her. “I’m going to have to share you soon, aren’t I?”

If Claire was being honest with herself, no matter how much she complained about being pregnant, no matter how badly she ached all over, she almost didn’t want to give birth. She’d come to cherish his moving around inside her, she’d come to truly believe that he could hear her when she spoke to him, and that he was kicking in response to his mother’s voice. The conversations they shared felt real to her. The way things were now, he was safe, in her womb, protected.

True, if harm had come to her, he’d be in danger, if there was undue emotional stress, it could harm him. But she had been extremely diligent in taking care of herself these almost nine months that she carried him. She hadn’t protested when she’d been told to cease a certain activity, she hadn’t objected to being taken care of. She’d allowed herself time to scream and cry for her dead husband, but then she’d allowed herself fresh air and distraction, and joy with her nieces, nephews, and her son. If her grief and mourning were going to harm her baby, surely she’d have known by now.

She possessively and protectively wrapped her arms around her middle, as if she could keep him there forever if she held on tightly enough. She tried to find comfort in images of a squirming, tiny baby with Jamie’s eyes, of a little boy running and shouting with his cousins, wild copper curls flowing in the wind, of little kisses to her cheek and tiny whispers in Gaelic. She tried.

But it terrified her.

Once the labor pains began, once her water broke, he was in danger. Faith had stirred and moved right up until her premature birth. She was alive when she was inside of her. It was only when Claire’s body tried to release her that she’d killed her.

Killed her.

For perhaps the millionth time, Claire prayed fervently to whoever was listening.

Please don’t take him, too. Please don’t take him too. Please don’t let me kill him. Give me the strength to see him safe…Please…

Don’t let my body fail me again.

Don’t let me fail him…

This child was all that would be left of him. Ever. The thought of her body purging that life and strangling it even as it came into the world made her sick enough to wish she’d never go into labor at all.

A soft knock on the door stirred her out of her reverie. Her eyes fell on the little lamb again, chuckling softly at the sight of him balancing on her large, round belly. She took him into her hands.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and she expected Fergus’s wide eyes, a stern look from Jenny, or even a lip-biting smile from her little niece.

“Good evening, lass.”

But she certainly hadn’t expected Ian.

“Good evening,” Claire said warmly, sitting herself up a little straighter in her chair. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, aye. Just fine.” He lingered in the doorway. “D’ye mind if I join ye?”

“Not at all, please.” Claire gestured to the other chair beside the fireplace, adjacent to hers. “Is it your leg?”

“No, Claire.” He waved her off as he sat down across from her. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Claire’s brow furrowed. “Apologize?”

“I ken ye’ve been in anguish since the Redcoats desecrated Jamie’s grave. And I ken well that it’s my fault they did it.”

“Ian — ”

“Please, I want to say my piece,” he cut her off gently, holding his eye contact with her. Claire wet her lips, swallowing thickly.

“It was damned foolish of me to attempt to retrieve his body. I didna think of the consequences, how easy it’d be to track down someone like me.” He gestured weakly to his leg, blinking shamefully. “And when they were here, I couldna think of any other way to save my hide than to tell them of the grave. I kent well what they’d do.”

“I said it the night you were shot, and I’ll say it again: a body to bury, a grave, is not worth your life,” Claire said. “Where would Jenny or your children be if you hadn’t thought to say something to support your innocence?”

“Aye. It’s true. But ye have anger, Claire.” His eye contact remained ever constant, and she felt her resolve crumbling under his gaze. “And I want ye to know that I ken it’s anger fer me. And well deserved at that.”

Her vision began to blur with tears and she quickly wiped her eyes. “Ian…I don’t resent you,” she said firmly. “You’re right…I have anger. I have…so much anger.” Her voice shuddered. “But it isn’t for you, or Jenny, or anyone but the bastards who killed him in the first place, and then blew apart the only grave we could give him.” She wiped her eyes again, taking a breath. “And perhaps God.”

Ian nodded. “Aye. I can understand.”

“What kind of God would create a society in which those with power can be so…so cruel to those that are helpless? Drive thousands of men to their deaths to stop it all from happening…and have it all be in vain?” Claire shook her head, then rubbed her hand down the length of her face and rested her fingers over her lips.

Frank had briefly recounted to her what had become of the European Jews, the Holocaust, they were calling it. Apparently, right under the noses of the whole world, those with power had rounded up the helpless and murdered them by the millions. A systematic erasure of a culture that they despised for the sake of despising it.

It was not a one-to-one correlation by any stretch of the imagination. What was happening here was no Holocaust, though it was cultural genocide to be sure. Claire supposed that if the powers that be in England could even wrap their minds around something so incomprehensible as death camps, perhaps they might have employed them. At least for the men. Jamie’s treatment at Fort William, at Wentworth, could certainly rival that of the paper thin, war weary Jews in rags that she’d seen on a rare occasion in Europe.

And what kind of God would let this happen? Not once, not even twice through history…countless times? Jamie took up arms to ensure that the ones he loved never had to endure the treatment that he did. To protect his nieces and eventual daughters from the treatment Jenny had received at Lallybroch all those years ago, to protect his nephew and eventual sons from his fate in prison. He fought for a better future for the ones he loved. He died for it. And it was for nothing.

Once again, she found herself possessively hugging her middle. This world is not safe for him.

And it would appear that no world would be safe. Not this one, in 1746, and not her own, in 1945. Here, her child would be targeted as a Highlander, in 1939 children were targeted and murdered for simply being born Jewish. So who was to say that two hundred years from now, some new evil couldn't arise and target her child for being anything? He could be ripped from her arms in any century, everything she loved and held dear could be destroyed for no good reason no matter where, no matter when she was.

“God created this world, aye, he created the people in it. But he didna create the evil,” Ian began. “The Devil lives, thrives in some people, and they drag others down wi’ them.”

Images of herself screaming, pleading for help from the soldiers in Wentworth flashed through Claire’s mind, followed by images of Jack Randall telling them to leave and ignore what they’d seen. And they'd obeyed.

The Devil thrives in some people indeed. And he managed to drag plenty down with him.

“For whatever reason, He canna purge the world of that evil,” Ian went on. “D’ye ken the only thing that truly does combat it?”

Claire blinked numbly at him.

“It’s love, Claire. Pure and undying. It’s the only thing that can never truly die.”

Silent tears trickled down her cheeks as she listened intently.

“After seeing the evils of war, what men are capable of doing to one another.” He gestured to his leg again. “I cursed the Lord as well. I couldna close my eyes wi’out feeling hatred and terror. But d’ye ken what dragged me out of it?”

Claire briefly closed her eyes, a tiny smile appearing on her lips, but not quite reaching her eyes. “Jenny.”

“Aye. That she did.” Ian’s face was now full of emotion. “That lass and her damned stubbornness refused to let me be lost. Her love reminded me why it is that God puts us on this Earth. And then I look at my bairns…and I’m so full of love I’m fit tae burst.” Claire wiped her eyes again. “D’ye see what I’m saying, Claire?”

“I do.” Truly she did. But she was not comforted yet. “And then what happens when they’re ripped away from you?” She didn’t mean to sound as harsh as she did.

“The love remains. I ken ye know that, Claire.”

That damned eye contact.

What had she said to herself when they’d buried Jamie’s tartan?

It was not their love that she was putting to rest.

“Love can’t be put to rest,” Claire said shakily.

“Aye. And neither can pain. And that’s the hell of it, I suppose.” He sighed. “You are loved, Claire. By those that have left us and by the ones still here. Throughout the Highlands, men have been slaughtered, and their families are hanging together wi’ love for each other. It’s all they have in the face of evil. Ye ken?”

She nodded tearfully. “I understand.”

He leaned over and placed a gentle hand on her knee. “Yer child will be brought up wi’ love.”

“I know.”

“It was love that brought him here.”

“Yes…it was.”

“I, uh…reckon ye havenae seen the graveyard as of late.” Claire shook her head. “We cleaned up everything that was burnt, filled the hole they left. Didna bury anything else. Jenny said ye didna want it that way.”

Her eyes absently landed on the tartan bow in her hands.

“It wasna salvageable,” Ian said, not waiting for her to ask. “The Redcoats made sure of that.” She nodded, rubbing the fabric on the lamb between her fingers again.

“We…we gathered the ashes. Of the tartan. Jenny argued against it seeing as how ye didna want to bury anything else…but I thought I should ask ye before we truly were rid of it.”

Claire bit her lip.

“Ye dinna have to say anything now. Or tomorrow, or ever, if ye dinna want to,” he continued. “But just know that we have them. The grave is cleaned up, the rosary is returned to the stone, and the ashes of the tartan are safe somewhere.”

She nodded, her chin trembling, not knowing what to say.

He took his hand from her knee before standing.

“I ken ye havena been joining us fer supper of late, and I dinna blame ye. Ye can stay in here of course, eat supper in peace wi’ yer bairn, and we’d think none the less of ye fer it.” He smiled warmly at her. “But I’d be honored if ye came to supper wi’ us, Claire. Wi’ the family that loves ye.”

With that, he turned to leave. Claire watched him go, her heart aching.

“Ian.” She stopped him just before he shut the door behind him. “Thank you.”

He nodded, and then left her alone to think again.

She’d be lying if she said that what had happened with the Redcoats hadn’t caused her to regress in terms of her grief. She was spending more time locked in her room than she had in months. Jenny was bringing meals to her room again, forcing her to eat it, Fergus was peeking in, frightened like he’d been all those months ago, walking on eggshells, frightened that he would shatter her. But unlike last time, the baby was much more concrete, much more real now. She was not just locking herself in her room, she was locking herself in with her baby. This made it all the easier to forget that she was shutting everyone else out.

Guilt clenched her gut. She’d been taking them for granted. The sister that was constantly putting her needs over her own, the brother that risked his life to bring her peace, the son that brought her comfort enough to sleep on nights where she otherwise couldn’t, the nieces and nephew that put so much light in her heart. She’d gotten used to having them, to having a family of her own. And she’d taken it for granted.

Resolutely, Claire pushed herself out of her chair. She reverently placed Lambert in the cot that would soon belong to her baby, smiling as she ran her fingertips over the mattress and blankets.

She would dine with her family. Tonight, and every night thereafter.

She was greeted with several boisterous “Auntie!”s when she entered the dining room, Maggie, then wee Jamie rushing to hug her around the legs. Even Kitty made an attempt, crying “Ah-ee!” and clapping her hands, mimicking her siblings’ delight.

Maggie tugged on her hands, dragging her to the seat beside her, where she’d become accustomed to having her during meals. Maggie had turned three during Claire’s self-induced isolation. Jenny had come into her room, and Claire, in her depression, had been none the wiser to the day.

“D’ye ken it’s Maggie’s birthday?” Jenny said, trying to suppress the salt in her words.

“Is it…?” Claire said dazedly.

“Aye. And she’s been asking fer her Auntie all day.”

Claire finally forced herself to look at her, her stomach wrangled with guilt.

“Remember, three years ago, Claire?” Jenny allowed a smile. “We were strangers, and I had ye pulling a bairn out of me wi’ yer bare hands.”

Claire chuckled softly. “I was terrified.”

“Oh, you were, now?” Jenny scoffed, then shook her head, smiling. “She’s a blessing, a blessing that I have because of you. A blessing that you have because ye brought her into the world three years ago today.” Jenny patted her shoulder and then stood up and made to leave the room.

“Just wanted to tell ye that.” She shut the door behind her.

That was the one and only day that month that Claire had forced herself to venture out of the house. The air was chilling, biting, even, but there was only one way to make this right. After her journey out of doors, Claire found Maggie in the nursery with her dolls.

“Auntie Claire!” She toddled to the door and threw herself on her legs. “D’ye ken the day, Auntie?”

“Of course I do!” She sat on Maggie’s bed and pulled her into her lap, though there wasn’t much room given the size of her belly. “It’s the day I helped your mother bring you into the world.” She poked her nose, resulting in a little giggle.

“Aye! Mam says ye saved me, Auntie.”

Claire looked into her eyes, so wide, so in awe of her, completely clueless as to how broken she, the woman who was her hero, had become.

“I did, Maggie. Because I already loved you so very much.”

She was very much like Ian, Claire decided. Wee Jamie was the troublemaker, like his namesake, Kitty was the stubborn devil, like her mother, but Maggie was so gentle, so sweet, caring beyond her years.

“I’ve brought something for the birthday girl,” Claire said in a sing-song pattern.

Maggie gasped, her face lighting up, clapping her hands.

Claire reached into her pocket and pulled out the very item she’d ventured outside for. It was a dried and flattened bluebell, something she’d been saving with her other dried herbs for experimental purposes, but also something she’d much rather give to a special little girl on her birthday.

“It’s a dried flower, a bluebell.” Claire held it out to her, and she gaped at it in awe. She took it in her little hands with all the grace of a grown woman holding a string of pearls. Claire didn’t have to tell her to be careful, how delicate it was. She knew.

“Someday, I’ll teach you how to dry flowers yourself, that way you can keep any flower you want forever. How does that sound?”

Maggie simply nodded, her mouth stuck in an adorable little “o” shape, unable to tear her wide eyes from it.

“It’s a special medicine flower,” Claire went on. “If you keep it in your pocket, you’ll always have the warmth of Spring, even in the dead of Winter.” Claire was never one to come up with fairytales, but she felt compelled to endow the simple little plant with something so that the poor girl wouldn’t realize her Auntie had selfishly forgotten her birthday.

Although, looking at her face, Claire decided that even if it was just a plain, non-magical flower, Maggie would have cherished it all the same.

“Do you like it?” Claire said, almost laughing at how her little awe-struck face still hadn’t changed.

“Aye, Auntie.” She nodded.

“I’m glad. I had to give my little garden faery something special for her birthday.” Claire kissed her head. “Keep it safe now, won’t you?”

“I will, Auntie. Promise.”

Now, Maggie clambered into her chair next to Claire, and she hoisted herself onto her knees. She looked up at Claire smiling, biting her bottom lip as she always did. She patted the pocket of her wee apron. “Safe, Auntie.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with tears, and she pulled the girl into a hug to hide them from her.

Dear, sweet girl.

Supper was…normal. It was as if she’d never left, as if she hadn’t spent weeks avoiding everybody. The children were boisterous, Jenny and Ian bickered, Fergus was…well, Fergus. Everything was as it should be. Everything was perfectly…normal. It unnerved her for some reason to feel that way, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Until halfway through the meal it hit her.

“Normal” no longer included Jamie.

She’d spent months imagining him at the table, hearing his laughter among the cacophony of noise. Now, his absence was normal. She’d gotten used to it.

She’d almost had to excuse herself, suddenly overcome with this burden of knowledge, but then wee Jamie spilled his glass, and the water reached Claire’s lap, even from all the way across the table. Maggie squealed, Jenny reprimanded her son, and it was enough to bring Claire back into the moment, out of her whirling thoughts.

She managed to make it through the rest of supper, despite her now being wet.

“What do ye say to yer Auntie, Jamie?” Jenny stood with her hands on her hips as Claire and wee Laura started to clear the table.

“Sorry fer getting ye all wet, Auntie Claire,” the lad said, peering up through his long lashes, trying not to grin.

“It’s alright, Jamie.” Claire ruffled his hair. “I needed a bit of a bath anyway.”

He couldn’t stop the giggle that erupted at that, and Jenny gave the back of his head a gentle smack. “Up ye get, lad. To bed.”

“Milady,” Fergus suddenly reentered the dining room, having gone upstairs to put Kitty to bed. “It would appear Katherine does not want to go to bed.”

Claire had to cover her mouth to prevent herself from laughing out loud. Fergus was holding onto the squirming toddler for dear life, and she was screaming her wee head off, positively red in the face. Fergus looked terrified.

“Och.” Jenny sighed and took quick strides to retrieve her stubborn wee devil. “Ye behaved just fine fer cousin Fergus last night, Kitty! What on Earth could be the matter today?”

Tutting and muttering to herself, Jenny whisked the screaming child out of the dining room and upstairs, the sound gradually quieting the further away they got.

“I hope mon petit does not hate me as Katherine does,” Fergus said, his eyes wide.

“Oh, Kitty does not hate you,” Claire assured him, picking up dishes. “She’s just a fussy toddler. She does the same thing to her own mother. You’ve seen it.”

He seemed placated enough, nodding.

“You are a wonderful cousin to the little ones, mon fils,” Claire said. “And you will be a wonderful brother as well.”

He smiled proudly. “Thank you, Maman.”

“Alright then. Since Kitty so vehemently opposed your being on baby duty, it looks like you’re on dish duty with — ”

A familiar searing pain rushed through her, and the pile of plates she held slipped from her grasp, the bottom two shattering on the wood floor.

“Maman?” Fergus was at her side in an instant.

She panted heavily, clutching her belly.

“It’s alright…I’m alright.” Claire assured him, taking the arm he offered her.

“False labor again?” Fergus asked.

“Very well could be,” Claire said. She allowed Fergus to lead her into a seat, exhaling heavily as she sat. “Look at the mess I’ve made…”

“Don’t worry, Maman. I will clean it up.”

He got right to it, returning the unbroken plates to the table and then picking up the broken pieces, gathering them in a pile in his arms. He disposed of them and then returned to her side. Her breathing felt regular again, no more pain.

“Alright. Back to the dishes then. Though perhaps you should carry them,” Claire said sheepishly.

“Are you sure, Maman? Perhaps you should go to bed,” Fergus said, rushing to help her stand before she could even attempt to do it herself.

“I’m fine, darling, really. It’s — ” She suddenly cried out and doubled over.

And then her blood ran cold.

The liquid running down her legs and gathering at her feet was unmistakable.

“Maman?” Fergus was panicked now.

Claire looked up at him, her chest heaving with panic. “My waters have broken.”

“Does that…is it…?”

“Yes, Fergus.” Her mind was racing, her head was spinning. She was squeezing his arm with white knuckles.

“The baby is coming.”